no more tequila. this is like the ass-prints in the sauna: i fucking know better, man.
ive been dusting off a few long-lost experiences of late - reminding myself of things my mother probably wouldnt let me forget, anyway - but delineating, like armando's architecture critic i forget his name's diagrams of lines hes loved, one from a glacier, one from a stick, these drawn out on the pages of one of his books, really, printed there; spiderwebs and vortices of dying loves. it feels good to know so much, finally - though im sure im imposing it grossly on others - about something you can really know about; what youve done and not forgetting the way your bones felt, way back when, jealous and narrow; going to write like "im going to go hang out in the word processor," as if it were a breakfast nook.
i did have occasion to see a couple of pomona co-grads at a houseparty of alices the other night - all doing wonderful, happy things with their lives (TforA, working at a law firm, recruiting for TforA, publishing, marketing), youth and health and wealth.
as for violence, ive given up (pretty much) on wanting to hit things that its actually physically possible to hit (mostly now its concepts) and have basically decided that im peeved and dont care. simulataneously, of course. im just so over people who dont have time for me - which is basically passive aggression, because its almost impossible to not have time, like what, i know calling me when you know i wont answer and leaving a message is so fucking hard. ive never exactly had high standards.
seriously, i dont think i can stay sane and listen to the damn ice-cream trucks any more.
oh! - and night watch (watching netflix with c & armando because thirdwheeling with cuddlers is a hobby) is a fabulous movie - in fact, almost as fabulous as blade (i or ii). luckily, its very russian, so what there is of "plot" tends to get lost in "dubbed in english with russian accents intentionally made thicker at times so you dont really worry about whats going on and watch the pretty colors. theyre pretty, dammit. ooh, bleeding."
although in all seriousness i loved the first twenty or so minutes; its actually a very narrative-intense movie, absurdist-lovely images, the ideas behind them continuously half-explained so you understand the story, their relevance to it, and their standalone value all at once. if i were to take it too far, id argue that the beginning is a gorgeous merging of media - simultaneous storytellings half-merged so you see how they work together and how they could, so easily, subsume each other, get lost, or maybe even just come together fully - and maybe they do that, successfully, im not sure. id love to argue against dialogue (ick) but thats a literary argument and might just turn dumb if i tried to apply it elsewhere.
im going back to writing emails, which is about, at this rate, to become a sport.
ive been dusting off a few long-lost experiences of late - reminding myself of things my mother probably wouldnt let me forget, anyway - but delineating, like armando's architecture critic i forget his name's diagrams of lines hes loved, one from a glacier, one from a stick, these drawn out on the pages of one of his books, really, printed there; spiderwebs and vortices of dying loves. it feels good to know so much, finally - though im sure im imposing it grossly on others - about something you can really know about; what youve done and not forgetting the way your bones felt, way back when, jealous and narrow; going to write like "im going to go hang out in the word processor," as if it were a breakfast nook.
i did have occasion to see a couple of pomona co-grads at a houseparty of alices the other night - all doing wonderful, happy things with their lives (TforA, working at a law firm, recruiting for TforA, publishing, marketing), youth and health and wealth.
as for violence, ive given up (pretty much) on wanting to hit things that its actually physically possible to hit (mostly now its concepts) and have basically decided that im peeved and dont care. simulataneously, of course. im just so over people who dont have time for me - which is basically passive aggression, because its almost impossible to not have time, like what, i know calling me when you know i wont answer and leaving a message is so fucking hard. ive never exactly had high standards.
seriously, i dont think i can stay sane and listen to the damn ice-cream trucks any more.
oh! - and night watch (watching netflix with c & armando because thirdwheeling with cuddlers is a hobby) is a fabulous movie - in fact, almost as fabulous as blade (i or ii). luckily, its very russian, so what there is of "plot" tends to get lost in "dubbed in english with russian accents intentionally made thicker at times so you dont really worry about whats going on and watch the pretty colors. theyre pretty, dammit. ooh, bleeding."
although in all seriousness i loved the first twenty or so minutes; its actually a very narrative-intense movie, absurdist-lovely images, the ideas behind them continuously half-explained so you understand the story, their relevance to it, and their standalone value all at once. if i were to take it too far, id argue that the beginning is a gorgeous merging of media - simultaneous storytellings half-merged so you see how they work together and how they could, so easily, subsume each other, get lost, or maybe even just come together fully - and maybe they do that, successfully, im not sure. id love to argue against dialogue (ick) but thats a literary argument and might just turn dumb if i tried to apply it elsewhere.
im going back to writing emails, which is about, at this rate, to become a sport.
posted by j; at 18:50
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